


Hide Your Love Away

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Play, Analingus, Cunnilingus, Dean can have fun and be his intense dark self all at the same time, F/M, He's good at it, Kissing, Kissing is a dying art, Making Out, The Jockey is the best sexual position, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and we should all sing to the heavens about it, dean loves sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15383703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: "Most hunters don’t kiss and tell; but if you bag a Winchester? You fucking tell."





	Hide Your Love Away

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

The hunt is long over. You ganked a djinn, showered, had some greasy food and a few beers, and you should be in bed fast asleep. Instead, you’re in an old beat-up armchair, knees spread wide astride Dean Winchester’s lap, taking his tongue in your mouth and two of his fingers in your pussy.

 

“More,” you moan, your lips dragging over his squared jaw and down his neck, begging him to use his whole fucking hand to get you off. You want to come and you’re certain he can make you; you just aren’t sure how far you want to go to let him.

 

Dean smiles against your temple before brushing his lips across the thin skin and slipping a third finger into your slick and swiping his thumb over your clit. “Should get these pants off,” he rumbles, pulling your earlobe between his lips. “Get my mouth on you.” He takes your mouth with his again and you moan into it.

 

Dean’s the most beautiful enigma. He’s crass and socially awkward, he’s a ruthless and exacting hunter, and he’s the most generous lover you could ever imagine. That last part sent you for a loop 15-minutes ago when you climbed into his lap, expecting him to throw you down and fuck the shit out of you, fast and hard.

 

Now, here he is, taking his time, making you so fucking wet and kissing you senseless of all fucking things.

 

“Then what?” you whisper, clenching around his thick fingers, digging your nails into his shoulders.

 

He chuckles. “Then you come,” he says like it’s the only possible answer before swallowing your tongue and sliding his lips against yours. He curls his fingers and you groan.

 

Part of you wants to get yours right here in his lap on his big, battle-worn hand then get the fuck out, go to your room and have a good night’s sleep. You could tell all the other male-attracted hunters of the world all about how you got Dean Winchester right where you wanted him, got off and got gone. Most hunters don’t kiss and tell; but if you bag a Winchester? You fucking tell.

 

“I’m coming _now_ ,” you gasp and you’re trembling. Dean holds you in place by the back of your head as he kisses you through it.

 

Your fingers slacken from the cotton of his white t-shirt, slide in toward his neck, and up to hold his face in your hands. You moan into his kiss again because you can’t even remember the last time you were kissed, or you kissed someone else in any other way than the obligatory one-night-stand or casual-fuck kiss. It’s really a lost art for people like you and him – no one has time for foreplay or tenderness in your world.

 

You break your connection and rest your forehead to his, catching your breath. Dean’s pulled his fingers from your body and he’s lifting them into view. He rolls his head to the side then slips his fingers into his mouth one at a time to the last knuckle, slowly dragging them through the purse of his full, wet lips. When he closes his eyes on a moan, you lose your breath.

 

“Dean,” you whisper, pulling back to get a better look at him.

 

You cup his jaw, and he nuzzles into your palm. His eyes flutter open, long, pretty lashes lightly beating his flushed cheekbones. With a significant amount of inexplicable joy, you notice the freckles you’ve heard so much about. The subtle sweetness, the boyishness in his rugged features, is so totally incongruous with everything you’ve ever heard about him and you’re unreservedly fascinated.

 

Then his face blooms with a striking grin and his eyes are sparkling – literally fucking sparkling. “What?” he asks, lazily perusing your face. He rests both hands on your hips and licks his lips as his gaze settles on your mouth.

 

“What d’you want?” you ask, shocking yourself, your thumb traces his cheekbone and you marvel at the way his tongue can keep your attention for so fucking long, running along his bottom lip and flirting from behind his teeth.

 

“This,” he answers in that same tone as earlier, like you should already know the answer.

 

“What?” you ask again with a bit of a chuckle, combing your fingers through the sides of his hair and massaging his scalp. You’ve never been the most nurturing person, but something about him makes you want to pamper him.

 

Dean drops his eyes and smiles like he’s shy. Then he gathers you to him and stands up out of the chair. He’s kissing you again and you might be giggling as you wrap your legs around his waist. He takes two long strides to the bed, knees onto the lumpy mattress with you wrapped around him then lays you both down flat in the center of it all.

 

He doesn’t speak for a long time, he just entwines his fingers with yours, gently presses your hands into the bedspread on either side of your head and brushes his lips everywhere he can reach in this position. He murmurs and sighs and sometimes he uses his tongue and teeth. Your knees are bent but fallen open, and your indecision earlier about how far you’d go with Dean Winchester is no longer up for debate.

He moves down your body, pushing your tank top up with one hand, grazing those fingers over your rib cage and under your back to clamp around your side, brushing his thumb just under your bare breast, and pulling your leggings down with the other hand, fingers wrapped around the waistband. You push your fingers into his hair and lift your hips to give him better access. He swirls his tongue in your belly button, pulling at the ring with his teeth and you gasp.

 

“Oh!” Sometimes when you’re alone you tug at that ring for the sensation you crave, to remind yourself that you can feel something good, but no one else has ever paid it any attention.

 

Dean huffs a quiet laugh over the damp skin of your belly, making you shiver with delight, then he raises to kneeling, dragging your leggings and underwear the rest of the way down your legs and off. He tosses them over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, baring that infamously thick, solid torso of his then resting his hands on your open knees.

 

“Can I taste you?” he asks, tilting his head in interest, watching your expression shift from dazed to confused.

 

Dean Winchester is asking permission to eat you out and you’re floored. As if you’d ever say no.

 

You nod dumbly, breathlessly, and he grins then drops over you to plant a solid kiss to your lips before retracing his path downward. He pushes your tank all the way over your breasts on his way down and palms one, pulling the nipple between his roughened thumb pad and the calloused knuckle of his trigger finger.

 

When he reaches his destination, he settles between your legs, drapes your knees over his shoulders, and slides his hands under your backside. His fingers wrap the crease under your ass and his thumbs splay you open. He licks you bottom to top and circles your clit with the flat of his tongue.

 

The sounds he’s making almost have you coming on the spot. Then it occurs to you that you’re on the verge of your second orgasm and you haven’t even seen his dick yet.

 

“Dean,” you breathe, pushing up onto one elbow and combing your fingers through the mess of hair on top of his pretty head. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, though his eyes meet yours in question. “You should let me-”

 

He grips your lower belly, heel pressing into one hipbone and fingers wrapping around the other side. He shakes his head and smiles bright. “Not yet.” Then he sets back to work, sliding his tongue through your slick and pushing one middle finger inside.

 

You sigh and drop your head back, reveling in the velvet of his tongue, the plump of his lips, and the slide of his finger. You took three of his fingers in the chair earlier, but you’re swollen now, and you’re at a different angle, and he’s placing the most pleasant pressure over your belly in time with his tongue against your clit.

 

He pushes you to the edge until you’re almost coming again. Then he pulls his finger back and removes his mouth, leaving you gasping for air. You look at him and he asks, “Trust me?” with reverence and eagerness in his eyes. You nod because you do without question.

 

Dean smiles and rolls you to your belly. You cast your gaze over your shoulder and see him wedging himself between your thighs. You rest your cheek on your folded arms and pop your ass in the air and enjoy the show.

 

He palms your ass, spreads you open, and licks you long and deep. Then you hear him spit before feeling his thumb brush your tight hole and push two fingers inside your swollen sex. You’ve never experienced this with another human, only your vibrator, but if you’re going to let anyone touch you there, it’s going to be Dean Winchester.

 

“Aah,” you whisper, pulling your knees up under you, pushing your ass further in the air, opening yourself more, and his mouth and hand follow. He’s licking and fucking and stroking you so good. You imagine all the times he’s done this, all the women who’ve taken it with utter fucking bliss, you feel yourself turning to liquid and you groan. “Dean, _God._ ”

 

He buries his face in your ass and slops his tongue and lips against you, slips another finger inside your pussy, twists them and presses down on your g-spot. When his tongue persists against your back hole, you shriek and clamp around his fingers. Then you’re gushing wet and there’s a buzzing sound and you see spots.

 

You’re panting as he lays you down on your side and you feel the bed shift with his departure. You lie staring at the door, listening to the bathroom sink turn on and Dean banging around in there, gargling, washing up. When the water turns off, you roll to see him approaching the bed.

 

“Want a beer?” he asks, and your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants.

 

“Sure,” you answer, sitting up.

 

“I’ll get it,” he says, holding up a hand to still your movements. You watch him move to the small motel fridge to retrieve the beers.

 

“Like walkin’ around with a hard-on?” you ask with amusement and hear him snort before he stands and turns to walk back to the bed, twisting the caps off the bottles and letting them drop to the floor. He climbs onto the bed and hands you one of the beers then settles next to you.

 

“Not particularly,” he answers, sipping from his bottle and eyeing your bare form. “But I do like the way you’re gonna feel now that you’ve come twice.” He licks his lips. “Swollen and full.” His eyes meet yours again and he wraps his lips around the bottle opening to take another swig.

 

You swallow and feel your heart flutter in your chest and your belly flip. The air has left your lungs and you can’t find the witty retort you’d like to use.

 

“Gonna drink that?” he asks, nodding to the beer in your hand.

 

You blink then shake your head and set the beer aside. When you turn back to face him, his chin is dipped to his bare chest and his eyes are turned up, watching you. He’s picking at the label of his beer bottle, and you take it from his hands then put it with yours.

 

He takes your hand in his and pulls you to him. You settle over one of his thighs with a hand on his belt. “You are _nothing_ like I thought you’d be.” You gaze into the pure iridescence of his shallow ocean water eyes.

 

He smiles and tilts his head again. “What’s that mean?” He twists and twines his fingers with yours and studies your face.

 

You take a deep breath. “You’re so,” you pause. “ _Indulgent_.” Dean chuckles at that then pulls the hand that’s clasped in his until you’re kissing again. He kisses you for several moments until you pull away. “See?” you say, chuckling a little yourself.

 

He shrugs. “It’s just me, sweetheart.” That glint in his eyes makes your heart skip, and you sigh.

 

“Okay,” you answer softly and use both hands to run over his chest and shoulders before dragging them down to open his pants. He grins and bites his bottom lip, runs his hands up your bare thighs, and watches your hands work his dick from his pants.

 

“It’s obnoxious how perfectly made you are, you know that, right?” you say, gripping and lightly stroking his length. “From your head to your toes to your fingertips to…” You look down at the thick mass in your hands; it’s the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. “ _This_.”

 

Dean groans when you tighten your grip and slide backward, smearing his thigh with your wet. You drop and dip your face to swipe your tongue along the underside of his length. He twitches and swells further as you get him wet with your mouth.

 

He produces a condom from somewhere and hands it to you. It seems such a shame to you to cover up something so beautiful, but you roll the latex over him anyway.

 

“Come up here,” he says, hooking his hands under your armpits and hoisting you up his body until you’re mouth to mouth. Then he rolls you to your back, slotting his hips between your thighs. His half-shed jeans chafe your sensitive skin, and you like it, but you want him naked.

 

You bring your knees up and try to tuck your toes in the pockets of his jeans to push them down, and he laughs. Dean scrapes his teeth from collarbone to collarbone and pushes his jeans down and off with his own hands.

 

Seconds feel like minutes as he pushes inside you, breathing against you, holding you down with his hands and his weight. You’re so keyed up; you want everything at once. You close your eyes and exhale and hook your ankles behind his back. You kiss him and hold him close and tell him what you want. “Fuck me, Dean.”

 

Dean nods. His face is a portrait of hedonism, jaw slack and eyes hooded, a small smile turning the corners of his lips, tongue dancing between his teeth. He braces his forearms and his knees, opening you so, so wide and starts to move in hard and deep – so deep. “Talk to me,” he says, nuzzling your jaw. “Tell me how it feels.”

 

“ _Ung_ , Dean, so good,” you moan, kissing him wherever you can. Your hands caress his skin, smooth and scarred and stretched tight over muscle. “So hard,” you gasp. You feel every inch of him sliding inside you.

 

“I wanna feel you come.” He breathes, gripping one of your hips and holding you in place. “Please?” With his hands and his voice and his solid slide inside you – he’s taking you apart piece by piece.

 

You slip a hand between your bodies and press two fingers over the flesh that hugs your clit. He slams into you, slow but hard, rises to his knees, taking one of your legs with him, your calf over his shoulder. His fingers join yours to toy with your clit and he’s smiling down at you.

 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, running his hand down the front length of your extended thigh. “C’mon.” His smile is wide, and his breath keeps coming in pants. “Lemme feel that pretty pussy come on me.”

 

He doesn’t have to tell you again. Watching him above you, broad chest and shoulders, glistening with sweat, his jewel eyes shot through with moonlight from the window, and that lady-killer smile – and you’re coming hard.

 

He groans and stutters his hips, scoops your other leg over his shoulder and drops to all fours to pound you, fucking your orgasm to its shaking end. You finally cry out his name when you feel him throbbing and coming.

 

##

 

“So,” Lana says, from the back seat of your Jeep. “Heard you were on a hunt with Dean Winchester last week.”

 

“Ooh, yeah,” Tracey reacts from the passenger seat, flipping the visor back into place and turning to watch you closely. “Dish, sister.”

 

At the mere mention of his name and that hunt your skin ripples with goosebumps.

 

_You woke up as the little spoon with lips latched over the pulse point in your neck. One big, warm hand roamed your hip and thigh, and you pushed back into his warm body. He slid between the tops of your thighs and along your slick slit, hard and thick._

 

“Not much to tell,” you say, reaffirming your grip on the steering wheel, making a show of gauging the traffic around you. “We got the djinn, had a burger and a couple beers.” You shrug, and you can see your hunter colleagues exchanging wry glances.

 

“Fuck off,” Lana says with a scoff of disbelief.

 

“What, were you puking blood or something? Because…” Tracey shakes her head and drills you into the driver’s seat with her skeptical glare.

 

_When you reached up behind you to grip the back of his head, he rolled you to your stomach, straddled your thighs, and slid his forearms under your shoulders, bracing himself on the mattress. You clasped your hands over his, and he began to move._

 

You laugh. “No, I wasn’t puking blood,” you shake your head and take the turn to pull into the Target parking lot. Part of you wants to keep the experience to yourself. There was something almost sacred about it and it feels like if you talk about it, you’ll sully it.

 

“Concussion?” Lana posits, as you park.

 

“No,” you laugh again. “Nothing like that, just…” Your voice trails as you hop out of the Jeep.

 

_Dean rutted against your ass with his hips, making his hard cock slide over and over your distended clit. His weight held you down, but you arched your back enough to cant your hips and ass to let him slide home. You both groaned when he hit that spot._

 

“Just?” Tracey prods as the three of you make your way to the big box store entrance. “Bitch, there is _no way_ I’m buying that you slept in the same motel as Dean fucking Winchester – post-hunt, no less – and didn’t fuck the living Hell out of him.”

 

You shrug again. “Well, I didn’t,” you say, which isn’t a total lie. Truth be told, the fucking was all done by him; you just reaped the benefits. “D’you guys have supply lists?”

 

“Oh, my God,” Lana grumbles, gripping Tracey’s arm. “She’s changing the subject.” Then she gasps and looks at you with shock. “Wait- was it bad? Please tell me that gorgeous asshole has a tiny dick or is a rotten lay. _Please_.”

 

_He banged into you, with hard languorous thrusts, taking your breath with each inward slide when he’d hit your g-spot. You lay there, taking what he gave, gripping his fingers with yours._

 

_“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight,” he groaned. “Come with me.”_

 

“I can’t tell you that, no,” you say, poking through a clearance end cap of cleaning rags. Their speculation is getting to you, making you feel like you need to defend Dean’s honor.

 

“So, he  _is_ good,” Tracey surmises, pulling a face. “Of fucking course.”

 

“Great,” Lana rolls her eyes. “Now I won’t be able to sleep again for a week just thinking about him fucking me into a tree or on the hood of the sex mobile.”

 

“What a dick,” Tracey bemoans, and you laugh again.

 

_“Harder, Dean,” your breath shook and everything in your gut tightened. “Coming. Want it harder.” Dean grit his teeth and pushed up to his hands, hammering into you, fucking you into the mattress with abandon._

 

_“Shit,” he stuttered, and you felt him spill inside you, pushing you further into your orgasm._

 

“Okay,” you stop and turn to face them. “This is all I’m gonna say and then we’re done. Capisce?” Lana and Tracey nod eagerly with big, expectant eyes.

 

“It was the best sex I’ve ever had and probably ever will,” you start. “He’s a kisser.” You smile wistfully, remembering his mouth on yours, on your skin, between your legs. “His hands are strong and calloused, but gentle? And _more_ than capable.” You nod in agreement with yourself. “And that mouth…” You shake your head and sigh. “Suffice to say that Dean Winchester knows _exactly_ what to do with every last inch of his gloriously hard body.”

 

You come back to the moment at hand with a grin. Your shopping partners are staring, eyes glazed over, and you wink before wandering off, leaving them standing, mouths agape, in the storage container aisle.

 

_“We got a bunker in Lebanon,” Dean said, tossing your duffle into your trunk. “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, gimme a call.”_

 

_You smiled and nodded. “Will do.”_

 

_Dean pulled you in for a hug and a chaste kiss to your forehead before releasing you. “See ya ‘round, kid.” He smiled then turned and made his way to his car. You climbed into your own car, started her up and pulled out of the parking lot, headed in the opposite direction as Dean._

 

_You watched in the rearview mirror as the Impala got smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Glass_Jacket, for being my best and favorite and for being my soul mate.


End file.
